


Rations

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2736440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry gets his way via a way he didn’t mean to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rations

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, so he goes in his uniform—he was too brief in their earlier exchange and not nearly specific enough to pin down a creative mind like Tom Paris. For all he knows, he’ll walk into a Risan beach, but he could just as easily show up in a chilly desert landscape with an old-style car for them to huddle inside. After five straight shifts of overtime and a week of struggling to amass repairs from the last external skirmish, Harry really doesn’t care _what_ he walks into, so long as Tom’s arms are waiting for him and they can shed their clothes. 

But when the holodeck doors open for him, it’s the usual simplistic, black and white set of hobbled-together, watered-down machinery. The inside of Captain Proton’s ship. Their awkward robot pal isn’t anywhere in sight, but this still isn’t the sort of one-on-one time Harry was hoping for. He does love these adventures, of course, enjoys Tom’s imagination and even playing sidekick for Tom, but he’s young and it’s been too long and his body’s been craving this all day, so it’s a let down to find Tom done up in the cheesy captain costume.

He walks over while the doors close behind Harry, locking as they always do for the sessions once both occupants are in place. Tom’s broad smile doesn’t falter at Harry’s overt tiredness, but his eyebrows do knit together in a spot of concern. He claps Harry on the shoulder and chirps, “You’re out of uniform, Buster.”

Actually, he’s in uniform. Just not the right one for this charade. He sighs, “Tom—”

But Tom cuts him off with a perceptive: “What are you groaning about? You love playing Captain Proton with me.” It’s a statement, not a question, and even now, it’s true. It’s just that loving it doesn’t mean he wants to play it every second. 

Tilting his head and hesitating, because he always winds up unable to bluntly tell off superior officers, even the ones he’s dating, Harry explains, “It’s just... Well, when I commed you about our appointment, I said I wanted something special...”

“And you don’t think this is special?” Tom scoffs, gesturing around with one hand and that condescending, incredulous mix he often gets on his face. It makes Harry grin in spite of himself, but he stands strong and shakes his head. 

“It’s just... we’ve both been working so hard lately, and I’m in the mood for... that is, I’m feeling sort of... needy...” He can feel his face flushing as he says it, imploring Tom to pick up the hint and run with it, as Tom’s usually got that sort of thing on the brain anyway. 

But Tom, perhaps purposely torturing him, says, “This chapter is special. The President of Earth wants us to forge an alliance with the shark people, whose entire city is underwater.” Harry actually winces—swimming in a holographic tank amidst half-people, half-sharks is the exact opposite of the relaxing, personal time he wanted. 

He shrugs his shoulders and tries again. “I meant something more... romantic. Like a hot tub or a condo on the beach or something.”

Tom lifts an eyebrow, and Harry knows he’s gotten it. “Do you mean romantic or sexual?” While his smile widens, Harry’s blush deepens, and he finds himself studying the terribly designed mass of buttons that’s supposed to be their control center. That is what he meant, what he wanted. But in the interim of his silence, Tom sighs. “I’m sorry, Harry. But I’d kind of rather do Proton today.” Which makes Harry’s head snap back around; Tom almost never says no to sex. Especially from Harry. ...But he also never says no to holodeck time, and Harry’s realizing he probably should’ve expected this. 

He’s not good at arguing with Tom. Well, not when he wants something, anyway, and it’s not like they have a ton of time, not if they want any sleep before their double shifts tomorrow. In an effort to appease his boyfriend and still get his way, Harry offers, “If I gave you a day’s worth of replicator rations, could we... you know.” He still can’t directly say it. He watches Tom’s expression change slowly into one of disbelief, a small frown and first wide, then confused eyes. 

“...Did you just proposition me for sex?”

Harry’s mouth falls open. “No! I didn’t... I didn’t mean...” Expect when he thinks about it, that’s sort of exactly what he meant. 

“That’s what you said. You want to pay me for sex.”

“Well, I didn’t...” Harry trails off in a flustered gesture, as much embarrassed by the notion as hoping Tom isn’t offended. Tom looks like he might be. 

Tom says, “I can’t believe you think I’m only worth one day.”

And then Harry’s spluttering and red-faced over that instead, even though he didn’t mean that; it wasn’t at all a well thought out suggestion. Besides: “I don’t have anything else to offer—you weaseled the rest of my stores out of me on the pool table.” After a pause and a look at the upward tug of Tom’s lips, a clear sign he’s only teasing, Harry breathes and adds, “Besides, shouldn’t your boyfriend get a discount?”

Tom laughs. 

He takes a step closer, then another, and they wind up toe-to-toe, Harry’s standard issue boots against Tom’s grey costume ones. Even in black and white, Tom’s absurdly handsome, with that growing, mischievous smile and those bright, devious eyes. At least he wasn’t offended. He admits, to Harry’s relief, “You know, I think I could get behind that idea.” Harry has to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from grinning too stupidly. Tom’s hands lift from his sides, slipping onto Harry’s, under Harry’s arms to stroke Harry’s waist, pulling Harry that fraction closer. It only cuts Harry’s breath off again, caught under the intoxicating warmth of Tom’s familiar body and the old-fashioned cologne he always wears for this program. With his head leaning closer to Harry’s, tilted like they’re about to kiss, he purrs, “I could be a _professional_ if you wanted me to.”

Harry shivers. He didn’t mean that. But he’s not about to take it back. This is _exactly_ what he wanted, and he gives in to the feeling of _Tom_ against him, reaches for Tom’s arms, then slips around Tom’s back, running up the thick fabric over his spine. Clutching Harry tight, Tom finally kisses him, a slow but hard, messy thing, tongue right away that Harry gives into with a pleasured moan that’s been building for hours. He’s been longing for Tom all day—he thought he might go insane if he didn’t get it. A day’s worth of replicator rations would be more than worth the pleasure of having Tom. A week’s, even, but Harry doesn’t have that. Tom will have to offer a discount if Harry’s going to afford him. 

When Tom pulls away, he rubs his nose against Harry’s like the childish romantic he is and mumbles, “I suppose I can give you a decent package for one day’s worth.” A more than decent package, as far as Harry’s concerned, and the innuendo makes him bite his lip in want, stifling a chuckle. “Are you sure you want to make this purchase?”

Harry nods without even thinking, murmuring, “ _Yes_ ,” because if there’s one thing he’s ever sure of, it’s Tom. 

Tom hisses, “Pay me.”

“I didn’t bring a PADD.” But it doesn’t seem likely Tom will require money upfront; his leg’s already pressing between Harry’s thighs, and it’s all Harry can do not to grind himself into it. “I’ll pay you after. I promise.”

“Alright, but only because you have such a flawless reputation for being a good boy.” Tom scrapes his teeth up Harry’s cheek, running to lave his tongue over the shell of Harry’s ear. Into it, Tom purrs, “You better not stiff me, Harry...” Harry shakes his head: never. He’d give Tom his very life. 

Tom calls, “Computer, full colour and add a bed.” Harry doesn’t even look around to see where that bed appears, just takes in the new peach hue of Tom’s skin and the honey of Tom’s hair and the beiges and browns that make up his uniform. 

Then Tom pushes him backwards, he hits the fluffy rebound of a mattress, and he’s being hiked into place and settled over and serviced with a thrilling skill and professionalism that only Tom could give him. 

Clearly, he’ll have to start saving up his rations again.


End file.
